


Wanted: An Understudy

by BDWC



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Do the masks make the man (or ghoul)?, F/F, F/M, M/M, getting more than he bargained for, secrets and lies, the clergy knows what it's doing, this may hurt just a little bit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-10 01:01:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17415962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BDWC/pseuds/BDWC
Summary: After the Fire Ghoul hurts his shoulder, Cardinal Copia decides to hire a back up guitarist for the upcoming European openers. A guitarist wanders into the clergy's grasp, completely unaware of what will happen to him once he puts on one of those iconic chrome masks. Soon, changes he can't explain begin to happen and he starts to realize that he may have actually sold his soul for rock and roll.





	1. Guitarist Wanted

**Author's Note:**

> I came up with this idea when Fire was hurt during a show earlier this winter. He couldn't perform the rest of the night and played backstage instead. 
> 
> Now, after having surgery of my own and being on bed rest, I finally have the time to write it all down... 
> 
> This will get darker and more seductive. Right now, I'm just laying the foundation.
> 
> Please leave a comment to let me know if you liked it and want to see more!

Cardinal Copia watched as the Fire Ghoul hissed in pain, clutching his shoulder. Aether tried to help him and a guitar tech stood by, holding his white and back Hagstrom. The crowd was cheering and chanting, even though it was intermission, and Copia felt the expectation of the audience like a chill across his spine. Fire growled and pushed Aether away, grabbing his guitar and trying to put the strap over his shoulder again. He yowled in pain and then kicked a nearby folding chair the guitar tech had been using. 

"This is a problem, Cardinal." Aether said. Copia wrung his hands, watching his lead ghoul pant in pain as he tried to put his guitar on again. 

"There is nothing for it," Copia said, accent thicker with worry. "The show must go on. Can you sit and play back here?" Fire looked at him, scowl evident even with his mask on. The bass ghoul, Rain as the fans called him this time, shyly righted the chair Fire had kicked over and tried to get him to sit. Fire snapped at him, sending the other ghoul scurrying back. Aether grabbed him by his good shoulder and shoved him down. The guitar tech handed him his guitar. Fire played a few chords, then nodded. As long as there was no weight on his hurt shoulder, he could manage. 

Copia looked back out at the stage, feeling vaguely ill. "Alright then. You stay back here. I will tell everyone. We will make due." This can not happen again, the Cardinal thought as he adjusted his red vestments and readied himself to go back on stage. Something must be done. 

***

He kept telling himself he was out of the hired gun game. The last two bands he had subbed into had dissolved horribly. The final one had left him abandoned in Berlin with barely enough money to get home. Still, his day job was nothing but spreadsheets and mind numbing conversations about the same three topics every single day and his hands itched to be on a guitar's neck on stage. He had played in every kind of genre imaginable, from pop to country to rock, and always found something in each thing to love. He had been around the world on tours where he was just a shadow on stage to a dancing, grinding pop princess and been simply a mop of hair bent over a guitar on night time talk show music segments. He felt hollow and cold without a purpose and he knew, deep down, that purpose was music. He felt dead inside. He didn't feel desire anymore, or anger, or sadness. He just... existed. Something had to give. He was young, barely out of his 20s, but he felt ancient and tired.

That's why he found himself late one Friday night looking over the exclusive musician for hire job board he had credentials on. He shot off a few short replies to various needs. Someone in Nashville needed a studio musician for a week. A four piece pop punk band needed a rhythm guitar player for their Australian tour. The website popped up a little message with a band new job and he scrolled up to check it out. A Satanic metal band called Ghost were looking for a understudy for their European tour. He had liked metal a lot when he was younger and felt a flicker to excitement in his belly at the prospect of it. He googled them and fell into a rabbit hole of deep band lore and rather decent music. He had no problem with some theatrical Satanism. Who knew, maybe it would be fun. He confirmed in an email he could play both lead and rhythm guitar, as well as bass, and sent his reply. 

The next morning he woke up with a return email that simply contained a location and a time for a try out. Feeling oddly buoyed by the quick reply he called out sick from work and spent the day learning to play their songs. 

***

"Do you think this is a good idea?" Cardinal Copia asked Sister Imperator as they stood in a room the Clergy had rented for these auditions. The Cardinal was in his more demure black cassock, his biretta abandoned on a nearby chair. Sister Imperator barely glanced up at him from her clipboard. 

"It will be fine. An understudy is a fine idea, Cardinal. Human bodies can be so frail and the dark lord knows the Ghouls wear them out. They can be so rough." 

Fire, clad in his black suit and his chrome mask, sat nearby, crossed his skinny arms, and scowled. Aether laughed a bit to himself and shook his head. They had been allowed to join to help make the decision of who would work with them and Aether was enjoying being out of the Clergy abbey for the afternoon. Fire still acted as if it was a mortal insult that this was happening but, as Aether had reminded him, it was HIS host body that had given out in the middle of a show. 

They all watched as musicians of all kinds came in and out to audition. Some were strictly metal heads, not flexible enough to play the way Ghost would need. Others were technically good but had no showmanship. Some, like a woman with long curling hair and a young Dutch man, made it onto Sister Imperator's short list. Fire gave his begrudging assessment of them and Aether agreed or disagreed. For the most part, Copia sat quiet and watched, eyes narrowing or widening as he concentrated. 

One of the last musicians was an unassuming man, tall and slender, with hair that flopped to cover his face. His hands were long fingered and well veined, with slim wrists. He wore jeans torn in one knee, a plain black t-shirt, and a pair of no brand boots. He introduced himself, gave his name, and named some of the bands and acts he had played in before. He was soft spoken and polite, but something about him made him command the stage. You couldn't take your eyes off him. Something special there, a spark, buried deep. Copia leaned forward, gloved hands clasp together. Interesting. 

***

 He stood on stage, holding his guitar case, looking over the assembled group. Everyone was still in their masks and costumes. He guessed that made sense. Until you were officially on board and all the Non Disclosure Agreements were signed, why would you reveal yourself to some random guitarists looking to get a gig? Something about the mismatched gaze of the lead singer unnerved him. It was like he was looking straight through him to his very soul. The two Nameless Ghouls fascinated him. He recognized them from concert footage he had watched as the whip thin lead guitar player and the beefier rhythm guitar. The lead guitar player glared at him, even through the chrome mask, and he suppressed a shiver. Something about those masks were so tantalizing in person. He could see the appeal of hiding behind one to play in a band, being nameless and faceless, a servant to the music. 

"Well, that IS an impressive resume," the older woman with silvery hair dressed as a nun said to him, checking things off on her clipboard. "Why don't you show us what you've got, then."

"Yes, ma'm." he said politely, opening up his guitar case and pulling out a battered but beloved Fender Telecaster. He slung it over his shoulder, the guitar's weight a comfort against his hip, and plugged it into the amp stack on the little stage. He spent a short moment making sure everything was in tune before he launched into a medley of songs designed to display his talents and proficiencies. He played The Rolling Stones, he played Black Sabbath, he played Elvis. He dived deeper into metal, playing King Diamond, Candlemass, and Behemoth. He played Johnny Cash. He played The Damned. He played ABBA. 

Copia turned to Sister Imperator, giving her one of his excited, doofy grins and an enthusiastic thumbs up. She waved a hand at him, keeping her attention on the man onstage. He moved like a violinist as he played, body weaving and bending to the whims of what he played. His hands, elegant and pale, moved with a flourish over the neck of his guitar as he tapped out a complicated solo. Aether watched as Fire rubbed his chin, watching the man with more professional focus. 

The musician ended his medley and nodded to them. Sister Imperator quizzed him on other genres and instruments he could play. He ran through a few Ghost songs, playing them without mistake. He confirmed he could play bass, acoustic, and guitars with 7, 8, and even 12 strings. 

"Thank you. We'll be in touch." Sister Imperator said and the man nodded, unplugging his guitar and putting it back safely into his case. 

"Thank you for the opportunity." he said before leaving. The door closed behind him and Copia clapped his hands together. 

"Him," Copia said, "it has to be him. Did you see him? He is a Ghoul. I will eat my biretta if I am wrong." 

Aether and Fire put their horned heads together and, after a moment of discussion, gave their approval and consent. He had been the best and he had that certain something, buried in his soul, that could be used. That could be tempted and grown. Sister Imperator looked over her papers and made a decision. 

By the time the man was turning the key to his apartment door he had his answer. His phone pinged and he looked at his emails. He had been chosen. He was going to be a Nameless Ghoul. 

***

He signed reams of documents about the length of his tenure as a Nameless Ghoul, he signed dozens of Non Disclosure Agreements, he signed his life and soul away (who reads the fine print anyway?). He quit his job and flung himself fully into band practice. At first it was strange to him that none of the others ever broke character. Everyone wore their masks, used names like Mountain or Swiss, but he couldn't fault them. The mystery was intoxicating. He felt strange to be playing in his street clothes among everyone dressed so sharply in slim black suits and tails. 

The Ghoul named Aether was instantly a friend. He was a cheerful soul who clearly loved what he did and took the new musician under his wing. The two Ghoulettes were warm and kind and spent many a break chatting with him. The multi-talented Swiss Army Ghoul also took to him quickly and soon the man felt something he hadn't felt in years; a kinship and brotherhood with other musicians. He didn't realize he had needed it so badly. He woke up every day sore and excited to go back to practicing. His hands ached, his fingers bled, and still it could not dampen his excitement. 

Today, it seemed, would be different. Cardinal Copia walked in, flanked by three pretty women in nun outfits. The man still had no idea how the band had gotten everyone around them to commit to their bit but it never ceased to amaze him. Copia proudly told him he was ready for the next phase and the other Ghouls clapped for him as he was lead away. The women whipped out tape measures and notepads, taking down every single measurement they could. He had to keep from laughing with joy. He was going to get his uniform. 

The Clergy worked fast and the next day the uniform was waiting for him, his first suit and shoes in a wrapped box left on the stage for him. Aether slapped him on the back, congratulating him, as he picked them up. 

"What are you waiting for? Go try them on."

He hid in the bathroom and changed out of his plain jeans and t-shirt into the suit, hands shaking a little with nerves. The pants were sinfully tight, leaving nothing to the imagination. He traced a finger down the odd seam at the knee. The black button down was tight as well, and he had to adjust the suspenders to fit his height better. The vest and tailcoat were also absurdly tight. He felt oddly like he was wearing a corset, his waist nipped in a shocking amount. He looked at himself in the mirror, amazed at his slim and elegant he looked. He turned around, surprised how easy it was to move in, despite how tight it all was. He couldn't help it and let out a little laugh. He felt sexy, somehow. He had never once in his entire life felt sexy and yet here he was. He shook his head at himself. 

"Don't be foolish. It's just a costume." he told himself. He folded his old clothes up and put them in the box before walking back out to the practice space. 

The Ghouls cheered for him as he walked out and he could feel himself blushing. The tall Ghoulette wolf whistled at him and he laughed helplessly, waving a hand at her. 

"Lookin' sharp, brother." Aether said, grinning. The man shrugged. 

"How's the fit? Tight in all the right places?" Swiss asked, winking at him. Fire rolled his eyes and focused on tuning his guitar. He still hadn't warmed to the new musician in their midst. Aether shot him a look. 

"How marvelous you look!" Copia said as he walked in, clasping his hands together. 

"Thank you," the man said. "Thank you for all of this." 

"Oh, just wait, there's more." Copia turned and held the door open. An elderly man in full Pope vestments walked in, dragging an oxygen machine with him. The man watched him, curious. This band REALLY committed to their lore. Two young girls in robes followed him, holding a box.

"I am Papa Nihil," the man wheezed, his skull paint faded. "I have heard you are the new Ghoul. Come forward." 

The man looked back at the other Ghouls. Aether handed him a black piece of fabric, a sad look in his eyes. Even Swiss, flamboyant and loud, had gone still and quiet. What an odd reaction, he thought, as he hopped off the stage and approached the old man. 

Copia clasped his shoulder tightly. "We are pleased with your progress and are ready to make you one of us." 

The two girls opened the lid of the box. Nestled on a bed of navy blue velvet was a gleaming chrome Ghoul mask. The horns arched proudly and the hair swooped back sharply. The man stared at it in awe. The fabric Aether handed him made sense now. It was a balaclava. He put it on, feeling it push down his hair and go taunt around his throat. There was an air of ritual about this that had every nerve in his body singing. He watched as Papa Nihil took the mask with trembling hands and started to speak in Latin. Not sure what to do, he bowed his head. 

Papa Nihil finished his chanting and handed the mask to the Cardinal. Copia smiled at him. "You are now one of my Nameless Ghouls. Welcome to the Clergy." The man couldn't help but hold his breath as Copia put his mask on. It fit perfectly. It was an oddly comforting weight as well, not too heavy but not light enough that it could be forgotten. He could see a surprising amount as well. 

The man paused. He could hear something. A voice, in his hand, chanting something. He put his hands over his ears, confused. The chanting got louder and louder, the words in no language he had ever heard before. The chanting began to boom in his skull and he bent over, gasping. It rose to a crescendo and then fell silent. The man realized he was shaking, still bent over. He felt nauseous. He barely had time to wonder what had just happened before his mask began to burn. His screams echoed in the practice room as his body contorted with agony. He fell to his knees before passing out, slumping over onto the floor. 

The other Ghouls watched silently, the Ghoulettes holding hands behind their keyboards. Even Fire looked grim. Papa Nihil spoke to Copia for a moment before leaving. The girls followed him, barely giving Copia a glance. He looked down at his new Ghoul, knowing the mask was already working on him. The changes would happen slower than he would like but you couldn't rush these things. Making Ghouls took time. 


	2. Stay and Burn With Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for liking the first part so much, hopefully it continues to live up to your expectations. Now everything really starts to happen...
> 
> Special shout out to V & P, you thirsty ghouls. Love you.

He woke slowly, feeling like he had just been hit by a truck. The room was unfamiliar, plain white walls with an upside down cross hung over the simple wooden bed. He sat up slowly, pushing his hair back from his face. He was still clad in his ghoul uniform. The chrome mask sat on the nearby bedside table. He stared at it, entranced for a second. It truly was a marvelous thing. The design both seductive and secretive. He picked it up, feeling it's weight in his hands. His heart skipped a beat. It was like glancing at your crush across a room. There was something about the mask that he couldn't help but love.

The door opened and he jumped with a start at the noise. The Cardinal walked in, wearing his plain black vestments and strange bat wing hat. He watched him, feeling a little dizzy. The lead singer's outfit no longer seemed strange to him. Of course he wore the priest uniform. He was a cardinal of the Clergy, what else would he wear? He shook his head. Weird. Why would he think that? This is just a Swedish metal band with a good shtick. Yet the thought of how RIGHT it was to see the Cardinal like that lingered.

"Ah, you are awake. I am so glad." Copia said, standing at his bedside.

"What happened?" the musician asked.

"You got overheated and fainted. It happens sometimes, at the beginning, until you get used to the mask. It used to be much worse when the mask had no mouth. These are an improvement."

"Oh," he said, looking back at the mask in his hands. "Of course. That makes sense. I'm so sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about, my dear ghoul. It happens. You will grow used to it. Here, I have arranged for you to be driven home. Get a good night's rest."

The man thanked him and changed back into his street clothes. They felt wrong somehow, like he was wearing a skin that no longer fit. He paused before leaving, running a hand over the mask one more time, almost loathe to leave it behind. He forced himself to walk out, wondering why he seemed so suddenly obsessed with it. He chalked it up to how tired he was, how he had fainted like that. How embarrassing. He vaguely considered that he might be coming down with something. He felt unusually warm, even as he stood outside in the cold winter afternoon, waiting for the car to come around. Maybe a night of Nyquil, chicken soup, and Netflix was in order.

The man crashed into bed once he was home, barely taking the time to kick off his boots. He felt exhausted and sore, as if his bones had been bought second hand and assembled in the dark. He still felt warm as well. He let his hand drape dramatically over his forehead, trying to gauge if he felt feverish. He felt all wrong, somehow.

Mustering his strength he got up to undress, leaving his clothes in a pile on the floor and flopping back onto his bed in nothing but his faded boxer briefs. He sighed, letting his hands rest on his belly. Forget the soup and another mindless rewatch of The Office, sleep was probably exactly what he needed.

Sleep would not come. Instead, he felt like he was on fire. Instead of agony, though, it was astonishingly pleasurable. With a start he realized his hands were moving over his sharp hip bones, making his toes curl into his comforter. He looked at his growing erection slightly dazed. This was new. He'd been so dead inside, so depressed, that he hadn't touched himself in months. If this was the flu it was the weirdest flu he'd ever had. Still, he couldn't stop himself.

Feeling like it was almost illicit, he dragged his underwear down and watched his cock spring free. It was already leaking, which was a surprise. He couldn't remember the last time he had been this turned on and yet couldn't figure out why. He groaned as he took himself in hand, slowly stroking himself. That felt way better than it normally had. He took his time, letting his desire build. Despite keeping his apartment cold because of the price of heat he felt like he was burning up.

He gasped, breath hitching, as he felt his orgasm start to build in his spine. His mind had gone blank apart from one single focus, his chrome ghoul mask. Another few strokes and he was cumming on his stomach, moaning his head off. He laid there for a long moment, waiting for the inevitable shame of what he had just done to come creeping up but it never did. Instead, he felt good. Content, even.

Humming to himself, he cleaned up and fell back into bed naked, something he never did. He still felt warm but instead of feverish it felt wonderful, like the warmth of good alcohol before it really reached your head. He fell asleep quickly, dreaming of molting snakes and a horned mask that whispered infernal knowledge to him. He smiled as he dreamed.

***

Aether changed into his street clothes in the abbey, having things to attend to under his other face. He felt so schizophrenic. When the mask was on he felt like a whole different creature. He knew he changed when it was on. He knew he was changed, irrevocably, even when it was off. He was one of the oldest ones to have worn it now, the others in the band were mostly new, apart from Fire and he usually kept his thoughts to himself. Aether knew, deep down, he was damned. He felt like a demon. He knew the infernal, Satanic rites. He knew what had happened. Something in those masks, some entity, used them. It wasn't a possession because he still felt like himself, but it was close enough. With the mask on he felt unstoppable. He felt like a better version of himself. It was intoxicating. Aether had begun to think of himself as two separate entities, the ghoul and the man. Time spent out of the mask only made him begin to obsess over it. Those who had once worn the mask but were banned from them were slowly going insane without them. 

Yet, still, with all he knew, he hadn't warned the new musician. He was so nice and polite, so eager to please. Now he was damned as well. He could have warned Swiss or Rain, he should have warned them. But they had all fallen into their roles and embraced their ghouls. The new guy would too. Copia was fair to them. His predecessor, Papa Emeritus the 3rd had also treated them well. He had heard stories about the first and second Papas, stuff that would chill your blood. No, he had it good. He was, deep down, a happy and content ghoul. He tried to shove the image of the new musician collapsed on the floor out of his mind. It would all work out. It usually did. 

Tying worn Adidas sneakers onto his feet, Aether hurried out of the abbey, casting one last glance at his own mask. It watched him go, knowing he would be back soon. They always were.  


End file.
